Be Careful What You Wish For
by Raven-Shinigami
Summary: ...because it might just come true. When America and England have a typical parent-child argument, America makes a wish born out of anger. Nothing was meant by it. But when he comes home, he finds that it has been granted. Though not necessarily in the way it had been intended...
1. Chapter 1

**I can just hear it now: "Rae-Rae! Why are you staring something new when we want you to continue what you already have?!"**

**Calm down people - it's not that big of a deal. I am simply allowing myself the pleasure of writing a dark fic I have recently gotten an idea for. So please, do not be alarmed... or WILL you become alarmed after reading this? IDK. Please tell me how you feel about this, and remember - REVIEWS SUSTAIN ME! **

**I fail so much. I was trying to go for a more descriptive story than my shits-and-giggles stuff. Please don't hate me! OTL**

**And no, Hetalia does not belong to me. It belongs to our god, Himaruya.**

* * *

America stomped down the street, muttering angrily to himself. _Why_ did England have to be so damn _strict_ all the time? It just wasn't fair. Tugging on his backpack straps, the sullen looking preteen continued to reflect on England's parenting skills. Which, as far as he was concerned, were close to zero.

He kicked the pebbles on the road angrily watching them go flying with some small measure of… hm, he couldn't quite put a word to the feeling. America knew he knew a word that fit, but it just wasn't coming to him. Ah, whatever. It wasn't like it really mattered to him anyways.

And he was still mad at England.

In fact, he could probably recite every line from their argument perfectly—not that he was ever going to do that.

It had all started with a fairly simple, average comment. America and England had been getting ready for their day when England had casually mentioned that America needed to clean his room out as soon as he got home from school. America—who would have normally taken that sort of thing pretty well—instead got super pissed off. Maybe he had woken up on the wrong side of the bed, or perhaps he was just having one of those days. It didn't really make a difference either way. The main issue was his reaction to such a simple, innocent comment.

"I won't," he'd snapped back at his guardian. "Besides, I'll be too busy anyways. I'm not gonna have time for something stupid like cleaning my room."

And England, of course, had let this rub him the wrong way. He started to become somewhat agitated as well.

"Now you listen here, America," he'd shot back in an equally harsh tone. "_I'm_ the adult, and _you're_ the child That is no way for you to treat your elders—you need to show some respect. And you _will_ be cleaning out your room when you get home. _No_ negotiations."

"But—"

"No, I _don't_ want to hear it, America. We all have excuses for getting out of things we don't like. However, that does _not_ mean—"

"And _I_ don't want to listen to _you,_ England It's not fair! Why do I have to listen to you all the damn time?! It's not like you're my _actual parent _or anything! You and France are just guardians, stand-ins for the real thing!"

This had clearly done something to deeply hurt England, though at the time, America hadn't really cared. Now, he wondered if maybe he had gone a little too far with that comment.

"A-america! Don't say such things!" England had grabbed both of America's shoulders and shook the boy slightly, a wounded look in his eyes.

America had shoved England's hands away. He hadn't wanted England to be anywhere near him. Soon, their little disagreement turned into a real loud fight and suddenly, it had stopped being about the original thing that had caused the argument in the first place.

And that was when America had said it. The thing he now wished he hadn't. That thing that he wasn't very proud of having said.

"Yeah, well I can take care of myself—I don't need _you_ to tell me what's good for me! Even if you disappeared, I'd still be able to get along just fine—without you! Jesus, why do I even _need_ adults, anyways?! I wish… I wish you'd just leave me alone so I could just do my own thing! Stop telling me what to do all the fucking time!" And on that happy note, a quite furious America had fled the house, slamming the door behind him. Hopefully, school would help calm him down. He could hang with his friends have some time away from England, and he could stop thinking about how incredibly angry he was at said person. At least, that's what America hoped.

That is, if he made it to the bus in time. For there it was, stalling at the end of his street, honking its obnoxiously loud horn and waiting for him to reach it.

"Dammit!" he hissed under his breath as he began sprinting towards the bus. This day certainly hadn't started well, and would probably only get worse. America didn't stop to admire the red and gold leaves as he usually did, though he _did_ consider it, if only to troll the bus driver.

Leaping up the bus steps, America quickly strode to the far back of the bus, plopping himself down in the left seat. Suddenly realizing that he'd somehow lost the rest of the candy bar, he sighed and reached into his bag for a new one. His fist met empty air as he closed his fist in the apparently empty pocket of his bag where he kept everything he needed for his daily sugar fix.

"Fuck!" he exclaimed loudly. Several pairs of eyes turned to see why he'd just sworn—and on the bus, no less! The stupid bus cameras were watching. Of course. They were always watching.

* * *

America stepped off the school bus in a much better mood than when he'd stepped onto it in the morning. Humming happily to himself, America began walking home. He truly wasn't all that worried about England still being mad at him for what had happened in the morning. Okay, maybe a little, but he certainly wasn't going to admit that to himself.

As soon as he stepped onto the end of the driveway, however the mood seemed to shift—almost imperceptibly—though America decided it was nothing.

_Maybe I'm more worried about England still being mad than I originally thought,_ America supposed.

He tried to open the door. It was locked.

_What the heck?! England's car is in the driveway, so why…?_

Shrugging off the lingering feeling of uneasiness, he simply retrieved the spare key from the flowerpot next to the door and let himself in. Maybe England was taking a nap or something, and that was why the door had bend locked.

But America wasn't fully convinced of it himself.

"England? I'm home!" he called. Hm, that was strange. Why were the lights off? Again, America ignored the nervous feeling sliding around the edges of his mind—that tiny little alarm going off in the back of his conscious thoughts, quietly shutting the door behind himself. America tried again.

"Yo, England! I'm home!"

_What, nothing? I would have thought he'd yell at me… or at least tell me not to be so loud as soon as I got home._

Something was definitely wrong here—or just… off. Maybe that was a better word to describe it. Yes, there was definitely something slightly off about everything. Suddenly, America felt as though he were a trespasser, like this was not his home.

But it _was_ his home, right?

Wandering further into this unknown territory, America felt the deep silence pressing down on him, crushing him… pulling him in deeper. But deeper into what? America could not say.

For some reason, the ticking of the grandfather clock in the living room sounded too loud, though America couldn't quite put his finger on why. Nervously, he slid his pack off of his shoulders and crept over the the living room door. Ever so carefully, he pushed the door inward. It creaked, causing America to flinch ever so slightly, wary of making a move. He slowly positioned himself at the perfect angle to look through the crack between the door and its frame. Peering into the room, he found…

Nothing. Everything was as it should be. For some reason, this deeply unsettled America. He had been sure something was lurking in there, just beyond the threshold. The absence of a clear threat was… somewhat disturbing, to say the least. But why? Shouldn't he have been relieved?

That was just it, though, wasn't it? How was he supposed to face a threat he couldn't see? Besides which, America could _feel_ some sort of malevolent presence, lurking just beyond his field of vision, within the peripheral view of reality. Something so unnatural… but that was impossible.

Wasn't it? God, America wasn't so sure anymore. And that might have been what bothered him the most of all. The mere fact that his resolve could be so easily undermined… unthinkable. And yet, here he was.

America suddenly realized that goosebumps had begun forming all up and down his arms, and the hairs on the back of his neck had begun to stand up. Shoving down the ridiculous urge to bolt out of the house at top speed, America shut the living room door with a tiny_ snick_.

He began to walk up the stairs. Surely England would be in this bedroom. But the tension would not leave America's shoulders as he climbed upwards. That alone should have been indication enough. And the thought of what else could be lurking upstairs set his nerves on edge.

Running his hand along the smooth white walls, America shuffled down the hall, making straight for England's room. He hoped upon hope that he'd find his guardian there.

Upon opening the door, America found the room to be the same as always. Truthfully, he didn't know what exactly he'd been expecting, but it certainly wasn't… this. It was too normal. Out of place.

And somewhat alarming.

There was the bed, same as always, the perfectly white comforter draped over it. And the dark green curtains, too, hung in their normal places. The wooden nightstand with the miniature table lamp stood silently, while the elaborately designed clock on the far wall slowly ticked by the seconds.

But there was no England here.

Unnerving. Yes, that's what it was for him. It was_ unnerving._

Once again, the complete lack of an obvious threat frightened America more than any monster would have. It was just a feeling. An unsettling, _unnerving_ feeling.

Presently, America began to drift around the house, searching in vain for England. His car had been in the drive. So where_ was_ he? That was the million-dollar question.

With mounting trepidation and a sense of great insecurity, America returned to the kitchen. What he needed right then was a good snack, something to do other than just worry himself silly.

As soon as he opened the fridge, however, all thoughts of eating vanished as though chased off by some unknown force.

There were severed hands in the refrigerator.

And not _just_ hands, oh no. Of course not. Of _course_ there also had to be eyes floating in glass jars. When America opened the refrigerator's door, they all spun to cast their morbid, unblinking stares upon him. America wouldn't have been surprised if he'd died of fright right where he stood.

He slammed the door shut.

"Okay, snacking is totally out," he muttered to himself. "So now what?" Well, he supposed he _could_ try calling a friend or something. Because he was seriously getting freaked out.

Quickly whipping his cell phone out of his pocket (and internally face palming at himself for not thinking to call a friend sooner), he scrolled though his contact list to his best buddy and pressed the call button.

_"The number you have dialed is invalid. Please check the area code or the number, then try again. To contact the operator, press 0. For more options, press 1."_

Irked, America tried again. It didn't work. Then he tried with a different contact. Again, the call would not go through. Sighing, he tried using the home phone, hoping for better results.

Turns out, the home phone was busted too, so either it was the phones being weird, or all of America's friends had suddenly decided to change their numbers. Neither had a high probability for being the real deal.

After one last failed attempt, America slowly let the arm with the phone fall to his side.

He still felt uneasy,

The sudden sound of creaking floorboards caused America to jump, dropping the phone in the process. A piece of the phone went flying, and he uttered a choice word at it.

"England! Is this a joke, because it's not a particularly funny one! England? Hey, England! Look, I'm sorry for this morning, okay? There, I said it. I'm sorry! Are you happy now? Come on, answer me, goddammit!" America felt somewhat silly, talking to no one. But he was still clinging to the tiny shred of hope that this was all some kind of practical joke by England meant to teach him a lesson. What other choice did he have besides starting to totally lose it?

In the end, America chose to go on the Internet to talk with his friends. Moving through the house, the complete hush sent shivers up and down his spine. It was quiet. Too quiet. Almost like a graveyard.

This blanket of silence was really starting to get to America. Every time he made a sound, no matter how small, he would freeze up and glance around. Why, he didn't know. All he knew was that it was imperative for him to maintain that silence—no matter what.

So, by the time he finally reached the room with the computer, he was really on edge, almost to the point where the sudden appearance of a small mouse would have caused him to scream. That was the state he found himself in when he sat down at the computer.

Starting up the machine, America winced at the seemingly loud sound it made when booting up. Why hadn't he ever noticed the volume before? When the computer turned on, the first thing America did was choke back a cry of absolute terror. A frightening, twisted image smiled at America when, by machine default, the Internet browser opened. Its strange form was disproportionate, with all sorts of small things somewhat… off about it. America quickly got rid of the browser window.

Just as he began navigating onto Facebook, his Internet connection crashed, leaving America even more shaken up and anxious. Hopefully, England would cut it out soon.

_Unless it's not his doing,_ a traitorous part of his mind suggested. _Maybe this is real trouble. What if… he is no longer here?_

America pushed the thought away, not willing to entertain it a second longer. No, what he needed to do was try to figure out what was going on. He needed to get to the bottom of things—and fast. After all, it was Friday, and he could not imagine having to spend an entire weekend cooped up like this, all sense on hyperdrive, watching, watching… for a tangible threat to reveal itself.

But then, it wasn't like there really_ was_ a threat, right? There couldn't be, not for real. Although he seriously doubted that it was nothing.

America just hoped he'd get out of this. Preferably before he wen't crazy with fear. Before the paranoia really got to him.

Unfortunately, he feared the paranoia had already begun to do just that.

* * *

**Hot damn, this is some scary shiz! I got scared just writing this! Now, I'm afraid to be alone. It might last for a while...**

**I can't believe I scared myself while writing this, but I did. Call me a scaredy-cat, I am one. I would be writing, you know, and suddenly I'd be like: "Oh god, no. I think something's waiting right behind me!" and then I'd be too scared to move until another person came into the room. Seriously, this is not good for my health... BUT I'M STILL PROUD OF THIS STORY SO FAR, SO DON'T HATE!**

**And, um... I know I said I have essays to write. I do. I just sort of... heheh, worked on this instead... I'm so dead. *sweatdrop***

**Here's a hint for you guys, as well. You know what they say, right? "If you have a white bed which is mentioned in chapter one, it must invariably become blood-soaked in chapter three." Actually, that's just a play off of the Checkov's Gun thing. But I think we get what I mean by that. *hint hint***

**Also, that bit about that scary image on the computer thing... that was based off of something that happened to me yesterday. Because on deviantART, I got a new watcher, so I went to their page to thank them. And their page was so chock-full of scary stuff that I had to cover the screen with my hand while I commented to them. Otherwise I probably would have died on the spot. Moral of the story, people: do not go to scary Internet pages if you are faint of heart. Like me.**

**On another note, I think we've all had that moment, right? That moment when we're so mad at our parents that we start ranting and raving, and next thing we know, we're saying stuff we regret later. Isn't that always how it is? You're mad, you say stuff, and then later, you're just like, *facepalm* "Why did I have to say that to my parent? WHY?!" And of course, you don't know why, you just did. Yeah, I think we've all had that moment.**

**And sorry, Romano. I sort of... borrowed your potty mouth for America. So... you can have it back after I'm done with it. Okay? Thank you.**

**And remember, people... REVIEW! XD**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hot damn, I finally posted something! It took me literally FOREVER to get around to this, so be happy, plz!**

**I would like you all to know that it's not my fault this chapter is so long. It's just... I was typing it, and it kind of just spiraled out of control. Also, I'm sorry that the way I write is so inconsistent. I feel like this chapter is less creepy than the first. I will try to remedy that.**

**Soon.**

**And in good time. Anyways, I was pretty busy with shit for school, and I had a bunch of drawings and stuff going on for the people on deviantART.**

**All in all, I was surprised that I finally got around to writing this. Seriously, though. It took forever. So, please enjoy!**

* * *

When America was finally able to drag himself away from the computer, he shakily began to make his way to his own bedroom. He needed to lie down. Making his way down the hallway, he felt as though he was treading on eggshells, like each precarious step could potentially break something. No, it was more than just that. It was like he was treading on shards of broken glass. He had an equal chance of breaking the glass further and of cutting his feet upon the shards.

Treading silently—aided in no small part by his thick socks—America tiptoed to his room. And his door was closed. He shivered almost imperceptibly, not wanting to have to open his door. What if something horrifying was there?

Worse, what if nothing was there?

Steeling himself, America pushed open the door, becoming more disconcerted with each inch it opened. Finally, the door was far enough open to stick his head inside. At first, he though that everything was normal. The blue walls, the stars, and the red and white stripes represented on most everything in the room seemed completely undisturbed. And there was his comforter, normally colored to look like his flag.

Instead of finding this, however, he looked over to discover that there were toy stuffed animals completely covering the bed. Not even a single star peeked out from beneath the toys. That wasn't all, though. Each stuffed animal—all fifty of them—had a full set of human teeth. In fact, several of them appeared to have a pair of human eyes as well. For the second time that day, America had to choke back a scream of shock and terror.

It wasn't just that the stuffed animals were creepy—that wasn't it. The toys alone would not have been enough to even approach being able to elicit such a reaction from him. No, it was just that, well, there was a particular small white stuffed animal. Just from where he was standing, America could tell that it was no toy. It was a bona fide _stuffed animal._ As in, kill the animal, preserve it with chemicals, and remove its innards to fill it with stuffing. And the most disturbing thing about it was that it bore a strong resemblance to someone America knew. In fact, it almost looked like...

Kumajirou.

Worse yet, the bear—no, _Kuma_—had a pair of human eyes. _Purple_ eyes. Canada's eyes. So, would that mean... Kuma also had Canada's teeth, too?

A look of stricken horror grew across America's face, and he slowly backed out of his room. For a moment, he though he saw the bear—Kuma, he reminded himself—turn its head to look at him. However, a closer look revealed that Kuma was just looking at the wall. Strange. America could've sworn... besides, Kuma was a _stuffed bear. _That meant he was _dead_. Dead bears don't look at things. That was just impossible.

Casting one last dubious and slightly fervent glance back at the bear, america shut his bedroom door with a quiet_ snick._ Shakily, he made his way back down the hallway to England's room, hugging the white wall all the while. He turned the knob, the door making a tiny _click_ sound as it swung inwards. Hastily, America went to draw the curtains, but not before turning on the small table lamp next to the bed.

At the window, America finally realized how late it was getting. The sun was setting, and he shivered involuntarily. Nighttime. That dreaded time of day when the light bled from the land, plunging everything into darkness. Prime time for the creepy-crawlies to come out. No way did he want to spend the night in this house of horrors. Unfortunately, though, he had to. The only way to avoid such a thing would be to leave, which would also mean he would have to exit the house. Outside. In the dark. All alone.

Well, now he was just scaring himself. Surely it was nothing. America tried hard to convince himself of this. Yes, tomorrow, everything would be back to normal. Or, better yet, he would wake up in his own room., everything just as it was before the day had begun. Maybe he was only having a nightmare, and it would all go away, to be replaced by a perfectly normal Friday. Yes, that was definitely it.

Burrowing deep beneath the white comforter, America let out a small sigh, though whether one of relief or contentment, even he was not sure. He quickly flicked the light switch off, plunging the room into darkness. It was not until then that he realized he had forgotten to get changed into his nightclothes. Oh well. Too late now.

Also, he didn't think he'd be able to muster up the courage to allow even his arm to slip out from beneath the covers. Damn. He should've just kept that stupid light on.

Hoping to have a peaceful night of rest, America snuggled down further beneath the covers on England's bed. Despite his emotional fatigue from such a trying day, he lay awake for quite some time, staring into the pitch black. His eyes remained open like that, gazing at nothing, for quite some time.

It wasn't until several hours later that America was finally able to fall into a deep, deep slumber.

* * *

The morning came slowly. America had woken up at around 5:00 in the morning, and had been unable to fall back asleep. Thus, he had been forced to lay awake for countless hours while he awaited the sunrise. Finally, soft shafts of morning light began to filter in around the curtains. At long last, America allowed himself to move. Ever so slowly he stretched, yawning widely.

He swung his legs out onto the floor, sliding out from beneath the warm blankets. His bare feet met a cold wooden floor, and he hastily hopped onto the soft carpet. He had forgotten that he'd taken off his socks. Letting out a soft sigh, America began to shuffle across the carpeted floor, heading towards the door.

America desperately hoped that today would be a normal day. He didn't feel like dealing with any of the horrors of the previous night. And, despite the soft, peaceful shafts of autumn light streaming in through the windows, he felt uneasy. Dealing with such a nerve-wracking situation was _not_ what he'd had planned for the weekend. Treading lightly, he made his way back towards his room. A floorboard creaked, and he tensed up, waiting for something to happen. But nothing did. He glanced around once, then twice, his heart pounding against his ribcage and his legs shaking, but not a single dust mote stirred.

It was as though time itself had stopped.

For a long moment, America stood very still, adrenaline pumping through his veins, until slowly, slowly, he dared to make a move. Placing one cautious foot on the floorboard in front of him, America paused once more to listen for any sign of threat. In all truthfulness, he was terrified. However, he was still not prepared to admit that, even to himself.

By the time he reached his room, America was struggling to keep his breathing under control. In fact, he worried that he was going to start hyperventilating soon if he didn't make a conscious effort to calm his breathing. That feeling of being watched never left or changed, either. He wondered what the strange sense of being followed meant. Pushing back all thought, America peeked into his room again. He stumbled backwards, as though hit with a great force, swallowing back the scream threatening to tear its way from his mouth.

Shaking, America peeked inside his room again. A disturbing sight met his wide eyes. Although he couldn't quite put a finger on what it was that was so disturbing about it. After all, it was just another toy bear. He checked his bed, which had inexplicably been cleared of toys. Now, the only thing out of place left was the big bear sitting in the middle of the room. It seemed mostly like a normal bear, with brown cloth and two little eyes. Two beady little eyes that seemed almost to be boring into America… Damn. Something about that bear was incredibly creepy. America sidled around the edges of his room until he reached the shelf near his bed, grabbing the sharp stick from it. He had never thrown that stick out after he was done playing with it, and now, he was pretty glad about that. Cautiously creeping up towards the bear, America prodded it with the stick. After several times, he concluded that it was not going to react. Not yet, at least.

He had the absurd notion that it was asleep. Even though it was just a toy.

That feeling of uneasiness again began to press in, that feeling that started in the pit of his stomach and made him nauseous. Sadly, America was beginning to become used to this. This feeling of trepidation.

Circling the bear at a safe distance, America set to work examining it, trying to figure out what exactly was so terrible about this bear. A creak of floorboards, then, was quite the unwelcome surprise, startling America once more. All muscles tensed up, eyes focused intently on the bear, America waited for something to happen. When nothing did, America still did not lower his guard. He knew that it was more than likely that nothing would happen, yet he couldn't shake the feeling of dread, as though something was sneaking up on him. Like something was closing in on its prey. Which just so happened to be, well, him. America turned his full attention to the bear once more, determined to figure out what made it so scary. After all, knowing may help him stop being afraid of it. Closer and closer he ventured, daring even to poke its left foot. Still, nothing happened.

America was starting to get worried.

Firstly, it still seemed so menacing, yet it was doing nothing. That was odd, and it was actually pretty creepy. How do plush animals emit an aura? Secondly, he felt that something could happen soon. The longer nothing happened, the greater the chance was that the bear would do something creepy soon. Also, he still hadn't discovered the source of his fear of this large bear. Its size alone could not be the answer, and thus, America continued his search for answers. Somehow, he just couldn't fathom leaving the room without knowing. He told himself that it was simply because it could follow him if he didn't find out why, but deep down, he knew it was just an excuse to satisfy his curiosity, as well as help rid himself of his fear.

Heroes, after all, did not feel fear. They faced the danger.

The only question now was this: what exactly _was_ the danger?

Suddenly, America saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Had the bear just… _move? _Stumbling backwards, he watched the bear, not daring to look away, even for a second. There! There it was again! The bear, it just… it just… blinked. Again. Even though it didn't seem to have eyelids…

Shuddering, America reached for the doorknob. Realizing he was not, in fact, in front of the door, he cowered back into the corner. The door was on the entire other side of the room. The bear had more than enough time to attack.

_Shit,_ he thought. _When will this be over? _He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable.

Nothing happened.

America cracked open his eyes, prepared for the worst. He was not, however, expecting to see the bear still sitting there, not moving. Maybe he had just imagined it blinking. America sighed for what must have been the fourth or so time that day. He was relieved that the toy had not decided to maul him. Then again, it had already had plenty of chances, so he probably shouldn't be that surprised. Still, though. He was extremely relieved. Eventually, he managed to work up the courage to get closer to the bear. While examining the bear's face, he noticed something quite unusual about it.

Its eyebrows were very thick, almost like…

Shit. They were _those_ eyebrows, weren't they?

Suddenly, America couldn't stand being that room one second more. He ran for the door, yanking it open and slamming it shut. For a moment, he leaned against the outside of the closed bedroom door, waiting for his heartbeat to become regular again. Why had that disturbed him so much? Well, he had his answer. It had England's eyebrows. Then, America reminded himself that maybe they weren't _really_ England's eyebrows. Maybe the were just… duplicates. Yeah, they were fake. That was it. He certainly wasn't worried or even considering that those eyebrows were the real thing.

Then again… maybe he should go check? After all, at least he knew the bear wasn't going to attack him. Even though it was creepy… it was way less creepy that just hanging out in the hallway. At least in the room, he knew what he was facing. Here, any new threat could appear. And this time, it could actually be a threat.

Resigning himself to his decision, America slowly turned the doorknob. The door clicked open, and he peeked in. The bear was gone. And now, so was America's feeling of temporary comfort.

Fortunately, he was a little calmer than yesterday, and—he hated to say it, but it was the truth—America was actually getting quite used to this feeling of unease. That lurking sense of a deeper, hidden threat was still there, but America had been able to shove it to the back of his mind. Still, he knew his goosebumps weren't going anywhere, anytime soon.

America wondered if maybe he should go back to England's room, maybe dive under the covers and not come out. Not until the day had passed and Monday morning had come. Yes, maybe he should do that. America reached the door to England's room and reached to turn the doorknob. The knob wouldn't turn. It seemed like it was locked. But how? Who? Who had locked the door?

Run ning his fingers nervously through his hair, America slowly backed away from the door, unwilling to accept that the door was now locked. Eventually, though, he turned on his heels and made his way down the hall. Maybe he would try the kitchen again. After all, he hadn't eaten dinner last night, and he hadn't had breakfast yet. Hopefully, the jars of body parts that had been in the fridge last night would be gone. It made sense that they would be. Things were always appearing and disappearing. Again, America was forced to face the fact that he was actually getting used to the strange way things worked in his house now.

He crept down the stairs, keeping to the sides of the stairs to prevent them from creaking. Admittedly, he was kind of worried. As he made his way towards the refrigerator, America could feel his legs getting shakier and shakier. What if the jars of body parts actually _hadn't_ been removed from the fridge?

Or what if there was something else waiting for him in there?

_Quit scaring yourself,_ America scolded himself. _Nothing's going to be there. Everything is just fine. It's all going to be just fine._

And yet, he couldn't quite get himself to believe it.

America began having second thoughts about getting food from the fridge, but decided that he'd already come this far. The fridge door swung open, and America felt huge relief as he realized nothing was off about its contents anymore. He rummaged around the refrigerator until he found some food he felt like eating. After heating it up in the microwave, America put it on a napkin and decided to bring it around with him as he explored. Sure, he knew the house front to back, but he was convinced that something would be different. Also, he still hadn't given up on finding England.

After several hours of fruitless searching, America decided it was time to go back to England's room. Maybe it was unlocked by now. And maybe—hopefully—England was there.

A thumping came from upstairs, and America decide that maybe he actually shouldn't go back to England's room. Whatever had made that thumping sound, America didn't particularly want to deal with it.

Having finally settled into the strange new ways the house worked, America didn't particularly mind staying as he was. He had found that nothing strange happened when he was in a room. Only when he left, and then returned, did he find something strange. Therefore, staying in one room until England showed himself was actually a good plan. Even though he really wanted to find England himself. America sat down on the couch, glad that he was in the living room. Despite being more used to the way things were happening, his nerves were still on edge. That took a lot of energy out of him, and he wondered if maybe he should take a nap while waiting for England to come back. He had to still be around, right?

America lay down on the couch, reaching for the blanket folded at the bottom of it. He pulled the soft, thick blanket over himself and closed his eyes. Perhaps England would come out while he was sleeping. Or maybe America would be able to sleep until tomorrow. Then… wait. Wait a second. Why did he think that he needed to wait until Monday to leave the house? Why didn't he just walk out?

Mentally kicking himself, America slowly lifted himself up off the couch, heading for the front door. The door opened with no problems, and America again berated himself for not thinking of this sooner. Really, he had been a real idiot. It was so obvious; he could literally just _walk_ to one of his friends' houses.

Jeez. He had been such an idiot.

America walked down the driveway, a feeling of anxiety rising up. He wondered if maybe that creepy feeling he kept getting would turn out to be real. As in, maybe the threat would show itself now that he was trying to leave.

After many long minutes of walking, America realized that he was not getting anywhere. He kept putting one foot in front of the other, and he seemed to be walking forwards. However, he could never seem to even reach the end of the driveway. America slowed to a stop, wondering what to do next. He eventually decided to go back inside. Maybe he could… well, he didn't exactly know what. Turning back to the house, America realized that England's car was no longer in the driveway. What had happened to it?

That oh-so familiar feeling of unease began to return, and America resigned himself to being plagued by many other such feelings.

America realized that the sky was growing dark with clouds, and decided he had better head back inside. He didn't really feel like being soaked. He had enough to deal with without adding sopping wet to the mix.

Feeling quite exhausted, America trudged back inside and headed upstairs the England's room. Somehow, he didn't really feel too scared. Or maybe he was just used to the feeling by now, so it didn't really register. Either way, America was too exhausted to really bother listening for strange noises. He pulled back the covers and crawled into the bed, feeling the soft blankets cocoon around him, holding in his body heat and keeping him warm. Sighing contentedly and snuggling down under the covers, America drifted off.

* * *

From inside the walls, a small voice spoke.

"I see that you are dreaming peacefully. Well, I hope that all your dreams come true. But keep in mind that nightmares are dreams, too."

America slept on, and the tiny voice's owner quietly slipped away. It would be back… another day.

* * *

**Guys, I need feedback! Also, I want to know which story you want me to continue! I have so many going on right now, so I'm actually confusing myself. I'll think to myself: "Hm, maybe I should continue Darkwoods Circus," and then my brain's like, "Noooo! Your friend C-san told you she wanted _" and then my brain will spaz out and try to figure out which story to continue.**

**I need your opinions, people. I really, truly do.**

**Also, I kind of feel like I forgot to say something, but you know what, whatever. If I remember, I'll edit this. If not, whatever.**

**See you guys later! (and sorry for the long delay! I'll try to do better for next time!)**


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